The Houself and the Mistress
by ScribblesTheVixen
Summary: The relationship between Lucius and Dobby has been shown. But what about Narcissa? Her story hasn't been told. So, when a late night ends badly for the women, she ends up seeking the comfort for the only one who can give it.


**A/N: This is for IWSC: Season Two. Also, this is set to take place before Daco attended Hogwarts. So, when the whole Malfoy family was still pretty young.**

**School and Year: Mahoutokoro; Year 4**

**Theme: Malfoy Manor**

**Special Rule: Write a character you've never written before: I've written for Dobby. **

**Main Prompt: [Pairing] Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy**

**Additional Prompts: **

**[Dialogue] "Sometimes doing the best thing for the one you love means doings nothing at all."**

**[Weather] Thunderstorm **

**Word Count: 1,578**

* * *

The clouds were slowly pulling together, darkening as they bled into one another, and let their pent up grief reach across the sky that they dominated. The trees below were bare, still recovering from the lingering cold of winter, while the grass had turned a sickly green. Creatures had already skittered across in the hopes of finding some sort of shelter from the oncoming onslaught.

However, as the creatures all huddled close to one another, there was one amongst them that had found his own little shelter within the grounds of the wealthiest family in all of the wizarding world.

At least, that was his perception.

See, his name was Dobby. Just Dobby. He was nothing more than a mere houself, covered in white, thin rags and forced to do his master's bidding- whether it pained him or not. He took each beating that was given and never once chose to talk back to his master despite having every chance to.

No. Instead, he was obedient. He followed the rules even when they were changed spontaneously because his master was in a bad mood. He made sure all his tasks were taken care off and done on time. He even made sure that everything he finished was satisfying for his master's taste.

But, he also watched. He watched the way his master would come home, yell whenever his son tried to tell him something, and brush aside his wife with a harsh scolding. He noticed the way that the master's son would sometimes retreat to his room and curl up in his chair, letting tears roll down his cheeks as he released all his frustration. He noticed the way his mistress would try to brush off her own hurt in order to tend to her son. Yet, when he caught her alone, he watched as she spilt her own tears, sometimes letting her own screams accompany her sobs. He watched the way her body would shudder and shake violently as she held her handkerchief close her face and tried to stop her grief.

And, despite all his harsh treatment, he sympathized.

Because, he understood. He understood how it felt to care for someone who never seemed to feel the same. He understood how much love could hurt a being. Love could be such a cruel thing, in his mind. But, it could also be just as beautiful.

And then, one night, as Dobby had been diligently cleaning the dinner dishes, his mistress had come bursting through the kitchen doors and collapsed onto the floor.

He had been startled and images of his master coming through the door to deliver another beating to the poor houself had flooded his mind.

But as the seconds passed, he realized that no one had come. It was just him and his mistress.

She had somehow managed to move herself from the floor and onto a nearby stool he normally slept on if no one was watching.

She sniffed constantly, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, while she attempted to take deep breaths to calm her rattled nerves.

Dobby, however, just watched. He wasn't sure he should approach her, not knowing whether he would be slapped or kicked. Maybe even both.

But then, she did the most surprising thing. She spoke. She spoke right to him. _Him_.

"Well, are you just going to stand there?" she questioned quietly. "Or will you fetch me some water?"

He immediately complied, hurriedly reaching for a spare glass and pouring the water from a nearby jug. He ran over as fast he could- not tripping over his feet, thank Dumbledore- and pushed it out in front of her so she could take it from his grasp.

Her slim fingers gingerly wrapped around the glass, bringing it to her lips as she let the cool liquid slip down her throat. Once the glass was empty, she set it down on the floor beside her, letting her head hang in shame.

"I suppose I should say thank you." she muttered.

Dobby's eyes widened in surprise, his body unconsciously taking a step back. Was this some sort of trick? Was she just buttering him up to deliver a devastating blow? A part of him wanted to believe that because it wouldn't be the first time that it had happened.

Yet, another part of him was hopeful. Hopeful that, maybe, she was being genuine. Because, for the first time, it would mean someone cared for him. Someone truly cared about him as his feelings. Could that be possible? Could it be possible for even just a moment?

"But if my husband caught me," she continued, snapping him out of his thoughts. "I might as well pack my bags and leave." She paused, her frown deepening. "Would he even notice?"

Dobby watched her, his big, wide eyes filled with an indescribable amount of curiosity as he wondered the same thing.

Would his master even care?

"I suppose he wouldn't." she said, her tone turning cold and filling her words with pure venom. "He's never around, anyways. It's always ministry work or attending as many dinners to show off his money. Never about his son, is it? He can never stick around to hear a single thing Draco has to share. He can never even try to care that his son is even remotely happy despite being stuck… stuck in this damn hellhole!" she cried out, burying her face into her hands. "Why doesn't he care? Why can't he see how much we love him? Why doesn't he notice when Draco leaves him those small drawings?"

The small houself remember those drawings. Everyday, he'd spot the master's son in the sitting room and eagerly sketching out his father like he was some sort of mega wizard. That child truly loved his father, wanting nothing more than to please him that he'd even go as far as to do everything the master said- even if it was foolish or reckless.

"And why doesn't he see," his mistress continued, her voice becoming nothing more than a whisper. "Every time I wait for him when he comes back from late nights?"

Dobby felt his heart break.

Here, in front of him, was this young, beautiful women who only wished for the love of her husband. Yet, it was the one thing she could never seem to have no matter how hard she pined for it. It was true that she had spent many late nights waiting for the master. And, sometimes, she leave him little gifts that she had found during her shopping trips and thought he would love.

But what does that seem to matter, Dobby thought sadly.

"Sometimes, doing the best thing for the one you love means doing nothing at all."

A minute of silence passed.

The mistress peered through her fingers, meeting his wide eyes with her own shocked ones. She was staring at him like he had grown two heads.

Why was that?

"Y-You…"

What?

"You spoke." she said slowly, as if she was still processing it herself.

He what?!

His eyes widened to the point that they could have popped out of his head. Involuntarily, he took a step back, words spilling out of his mouth at a rate he couldn't process. Oh, Dumbledore, he was going to be slapped, kicked, whipped, and who knows what else. His mind was racing at those thoughts, each one seemingly to have more of his blood spilt than the last.

Oh, no.

"Please!" he cried desperately. "Dobby is s-sorry. P-P-Please, don't h-hurt Dobby. Dobby k-knows he has b-been a bad elf. P-Please s-spare Dobby."

"What on earth are you blabbering on about?!" she cried, completely flabbergasted. "I'm not going to beat you, you fool. No lady does that!"

"B-B-But…" Dobby stammered.

"But nothing!" she exclaimed. "How dare you accuse me of wanting to hurt you. I'm nothing like Lucius. Beating someone isn't even in my standing. Do you understand how unladylike like that would be? If word got out of such a thing, Lucius would see shame almost immediately."

She stopped, suddenly noticing the way Dobby had pushed himself up a cabinet and was trying to cover himself with his arms.

For a brief second, her expression softened, her stomach tying itself into knots. But it was _only_ for a second.

She stood up abruptly, making to turn on her heels and walk away from the situation before the guilt she had produced became overwhelming.

Yet, just as she reached the door, her fingers came to rest upon the wood as she glanced back, biting her lip anxiously.

It was silent for a moment.

"Thank you." she whispered. "For listening, I mean. I fear I have no one else to do that with. Draco is just a child and I must be there for him no matter what." She paused, letting go of a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. Maybe, it was because she'd finally had some weight lifted off her chest.

A small smirk graced her lips. "Sound advice," she teased. "For a houself. I just might give it a try."

And then she was gone, leaving Dobby all alone with the pitter-patter of rain being the only noise. For a split second, his mind wandered. He glanced towards the window, watching as the clouds released their tears and finally let hit the ground. Almost immediately, they seemed to revive the once sickly, green grass.

It was a change, he decided. A change for the better.


End file.
